


Raison d’être

by Angry_gremlin_commando



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As soon as I figure out what i'm doing with this story anyway, Aymeric is Done with everything, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, General Ishgard Ensemble, Haurchefant survived, Heaven's Ward survived with side effects, Knights of Heaven's Ward, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More characters to be added, Not very good people having good intentions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paper thin disguise, Past Child Abuse, Percival collects knights it's a bad habit, Self-Discovery, This is Self Indugence: The Story, This will be fluffy at one point I swear, Touch-Starved, WoL is a proud citizen of Ishgard, Zenos needs help, multiclass WoL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angry_gremlin_commando/pseuds/Angry_gremlin_commando
Summary: “So, what is your hypothesis? That freed from the yokel of his father, Zenos is a better person than Charibert?”“That’s the long and short of it, yes.”“It’s hardly a high bar to clear, you have to admit.”“Yet he believes himself worse, thus it will be my measure whether to pull him from the executioner’s noose or not.”Zenos thinks he's a monster. Percival has seen enough monsters to disagree. Aimless, maladjusted, lonely and so full of untapped potential, but not a monster. If Zenos craves a friend, he shall have it. It's a beginning.Sometimes everyone gets a happy end.





	1. It begins

**Author's Note:**

> **Raison d’être:** reason or justification for existence

Fordola frowned fiercely to hide her surprise when the elezen walked into her cell like he owned they place. The eikonslayer was dark of skin and light of hair and not someone she would have called handsome, but who knew, perhaps the tastes ran towards resting bitch face in Ishgard. She heard that he was from those parts.

He sat on the chair by the bed and presented her a tray of warm food and and a pot of tea. She tried to ignore it, staring defiantly at the man, but it smelled incredible.

“What do you hope to gain from this bribe?” she asked sharply.

“You have served under Zenos for a time, yes? I want you to tell me about him.” His most attractive feature, she decided, was his voice. That gentle, reassuring voice was wasted on a face that would more befit a thug.

“I can't tell you anything that you haven't seen for yourself. Every time I've seen him fight you too were present.”

“I'm not interested in his fighting capabilities. Like you said, I was there. I want to hear what you think and know of him as a person.” He offered the tray again. Fordola, after a moment of hesitation, accepted it.

“Where do you want me to start?”

 

* * *

 

“You seem troubled.” Percival looked up to see Cid approaching and turned away from the railing to face him.

“You could say that.” Cid settled on his right and peered at the item in the elezen’s hands.

“Gil for your thoughts?” Percival sighed and held the little metal box up for inspection.

“I was wondering what I would do without this. It's a special tea blend that Charibert makes for me.” He smiled slightly as Cid’s opinion on the man settled clearly on his face. “It's for the ailments of the mind. Helps manage the aftereffects of trauma. Nightmares, intrusive memories and such.”

Comprehension dawned on Cid.

“We have some similar medication in Garlemald. Pills mostly. I remember…” he trailed off and Percival made a noise to encourage him. “Nero used to take some.  I wonder if his erratic behaviour has something to do with their absence.”

“That's entirely possible. Are they common among the soldiers?”

“I suppose as common as in Ishgard. You won't let one serve with a bleeding wound and you won't let one serve with severe PTSD. That’s uh.”

“I'm familiar with the term. Still if that’s the case…” he let the sentence hang in the air and shook his head instead. He seemed even more troubled than before.

He pushed himself away from the railing and gave Cid a tense smile. “Thank you. You gave me something to think about.”

Cid watched him go, frowning at the retreating back of their hero. At times like this he wished he could tell what went on in Percival’s head.

 

* * *

 

“You are a dear friend of mine, but that was the stupidest sentence I've ever heard you utter.”

Charibert glared at the warrior of light, but it was no use. They were both too many drinks into the evening for that.

“Is that so?”

“Without a morsel of doubt.” Percival knocked back yet another glass. He was the sole mortal who could match the knights twelve drink for drink, only now approaching the precarious edge between tipsy and drunk, whereas a regular man would have long passed out. “It is unlike you to let a doubt fester.”

“I can hardly solve this particular situation with fire.” Charibert, while blissfully free of the morals that seemed to plague the average man, was a devout follower of Halone.

You could not act like a bloodthirsty beast and still serve the Fury. There had to be rules. There had to be limits. The heretics striving to bring ruin shall be broken, the bloody truth extracted from their shattered skulls - but only them. Charibert might not examine the claims of heresy too closely, not as well as a good man would, but that was where he drew the line. He shall not strike at one he knew to be innocent.

Yet Aymeric, one perhaps more devout and good than his father the archbishop, suffered greatly under his ministrations. Under the spell of tempering he had broken his own rule and it unsettled him greatly.

Thordan should be grateful that he was dead. If granted permission Charibert would have gladly subjected the man to a death so slow and agonizing that the disgraced archbishop would have begged for the merciful oblivion of death long before Charibert even hit his stride. One who made a tool, a mockery out of the holy see in his attempt to grab power deserved no less.

Alas the man was dead and he had no outlet to resolve his unease.

This was why he sought the Warrior of Light out. Percival was good. Solid. A man with conviction you could bend steel around. Who better to ask for advice?

“The way I see it,” Percival said, shaking Charibert out of his thoughts. “There is no way to undo what has happened. The best you can do is make reparations and hope that it grants you the peace of mind you seek.”

Charibert sneered at his friend.

“If you think forgiveness will...”

“No.” Percival placed his glass down with force, the thud of glass on wood loud like a gunshot in the quiet. “Not forgiveness. Aymeric may not give it and you have no right to demand it. But this is indeed an apology, one that you both need. Aymeric needs the reminder that the actions were not your own, that you bear him no ill will and you need an outlet for the guilt because you were an instrument in his misery.”

Charibert remained silent for long minutes, considering the advice. In the end he decided that he was too drunk to make this decision now.

“I'll consider it.”

* * *

 

The door of his study opened and Aymeric could feel Lucia tense behind him. It gave him a good idea who arrived even before he looked up from his paperwork.

“Ser Charibert, what do I owe the pleasure?” Aymeric forced a neutral smile to cover up the unconscious flinch the inquisitor’s visage provoked.

“May I speak with you in private?” No pretense or preamble, straight to the point. His voice was carefully controlled, none of his usual flamboyant cheer present and Aymeric noted with some surprise that it was likely for his benefit.

Charibert’s eyes alight with sadistic glee, his voice crooning at him as Aymeric succumbed to the urge to scream haunted him more than the memory of pain.

Lucia narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but Aymeric waved her off. He had seen for himself that the torturer was unbalanced in his presence as of late and if Percival could be believed he felt guilty over what went down in the Vault. It was something he long thought beyond the capabilities of Charibert, but even if if turned out to be some elaborate charade he was thankful that the knight did not choose to purposely torment him instead.

“Certainly. Lucia, please leave us.” He could practically feel her disapproving glare, but she didn’t voice her disagreement.

Charibert watched the door close behind her before sitting on the chair across Aymeric. Seeing the man act reserved and serious was an unsettling divergence from the norm, but it thankfully didn’t drag up unpleasant memories.

“I admit I am surprised that you agreed to remain alone with me.” Aymeric would never admit it aloud, but so was he.

“Percival reassured me that you mean no harm and in him I trust implicitly. Also,” He hesitated for just a moment. “I was told that you sent the tea.”

“Yes. It is a hobby of mine.” And wasn’t that an odd thought, Charibert the Stern passing his time creating tea that soothed the mind.

Or perhaps not. Charibert never made it to grand inquisitor before he was relocated to Heaven's Ward, but he was well on his way, popular among his peers despite his cruelty and his grating personality. Such a hobby would both aid the inquisition at large and endear him to his colleagues who could not set their humanity aside as easily for an interrogation.

Aymeric smiled, a little more genuine this time.

“Thank you. It helps.” Charibert gave a tense nod of acknowledgment. “Do you use your mixes to loosen the tongue of the heretics or…?”

“It would be easy, but no. Tis a personal rule of mine: no flirting at work, no fire in the bedroom, no poison in the tea.”

Whether it was the truth, or merely a half truth to reassure Aymeric he did not know, but he was caught between a genuine smile and a shudder of revulsion at the memory of his time in Charibert's hands.

The once inquisitor caught onto it within a moment.

“Have I misspoken?”

“You have.” Aymeric choked on the words, but took a shaky breath and pushes through the brief feeling of nausea. “Whispered in my ear. Praise and endearments.” He didn't specify when. He didn't have to.

It was oddly reassuring to see the array of emotions that flickered over Charibert’s face - shock, revulsion, unease, even a glimpse of guilt before he finally settled on fiery rage.

“You did not remember.” Zephirin mentioned it once that looking back at the time he spent ‘blessed’, many a detail had seemed blurred or altogether absent. It was perhaps that way for all of them.

“Obviously.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you sought me out?”

“I wish to make reparations. Provide aid in your recovery from the ordeal.” He sounded sincere, but Aymeric couldn’t help but doubt his sincerity.

“Has Percival put you up to this?”

“The course of action was his suggestion, but it might have come about after I spent an evening getting drunk and griping at him.” Charibert seemed at least a little reluctant to admit it, although Aymeric couldn't tell if the source of the reluctance was the drink or the fact that he trusted Percival enough to complain to him in such a manner.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Tis my image that haunts you, not the fact of torture, is it not?” Aymeric grit his teeth and nodded. It was no secret that he had experienced worse pain during his service of Ishgard; it was his father's betrayal and memories of the knight’s manic glee that resurfaced in his dreams. “Keeping my distance and sending your medication via proxy seems to have done less good than it ought so perhaps the opposite approach might be more effective.”

“Spend more time in your presence? To what end?” Aymeric was intrigued by the suggestion, but also cautious. It had the sound of something that either lead to healing or to disaster.

“To build more neutral or even Halone forbid pleasant associations with my person. I could also monitor the effect of the tea on yourself and adjust the ingredients if needed.”

“Don't take it personally Ser Charibert, but ‘pleasant’ is not a word I would consider associating with you.”

“I'm looking forward to proving you wrong.”He sounded and looked aggravatingly smug. Aymeric’s fist itched to smack that infuriating smile from his face, but they both knew that he was going to agree to the proposition. “I am a most wonderful chess partner. We shall meet up for a cup of tea and a game sometime soon.”

“We shall. Are you free two days from now?”

“Indeed I am. I shall come and get you in the evening. Now, I shall leave you to your no doubt exciting stack of paperwork. If you have need of me, you know where to find me.”

He stood and gave an almost respectful bow before waltzing out of the room.

Aymeric stared after him for a long minute, fighting the growing dread that he made a terrible mistake.

 

* * *

 

The impact of the fall knocked the breath out of Zenos. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to draw a rattling breath. It immediately transformed into a harsh cough. There was a sharp pain in his back and the taste of blood on his tongue.

“Zenos? Zenos!” A familiar voice, unfamiliar concern. Someone flipped him over like he weighed nothing and when he opened his eyes he found the Eorzean hero leaning over him, his face a mask of worry.

“Why the wide eyes?” He coughed again. The elezen sent him a withering glare and placed his two palms flat on Zenos’ chest. “Let me die happy, having fulfilled my role to perfection, with the joy of our dance still warming my soul.”

“Shut up and don't you dare die on me.”

Zenos felt a searing warmth, like someone poured molten lead into his chest, but when the burn passed so did the pain of his injury. Healing magic, he realized a moment later, just as his dear enemy collapsed on top of him. Exhaustion he assumed, from the fight and from healing what were no doubt several broken ribs at least.

“Why couldn't you just accept my word and leave the dragon and the theatrics well alone?” the elezen wheezed, still miraculously conscious. Zenos slowly sat up, his arms going around the hero to secure him. The champion of Eorzea ended up sitting on his lap, but if he had any objection against the position then he didn't voice it.

“Why have you not let me die? Is this your idea of mercy? To rob me of a purpose and keep me further in this bleak, pointless existence?” His voice was cold, his grip tightening around the hero; the wrong word and on his head be it. He would be easy to crush here and now, within Zenos’ grasp.

“Mercy? No, not at all.”

“If not mercy then what drove you to ruin this moment? This is not how this play was meant to unfold!” he growled at the champion, teeth bared and eyes narrowed in rage.

A hand rose to gently pet his face and Zenos jerked back as if he was struck.

“You are the first I've met who can meet me on equal footing. A rival I’d loathe to give up. I'm drawn to you, I want to get to know you, what makes you snarl in rage and smile in contentment.” He peered up at Zenos, still exhausted but his eyes sharp and serious. “You asked if I would be your friend and confidant and I accept. If your request was genuine, that is.”

“You can't,” Zenos croaked, his thoughts turning from rage to bitterness. Oh, how he wanted to continue this game, to take it further still. “Our roles are set. The hero’s fare is not to embrace his enemy but to vanquish him and grow yet stronger from the the struggle. We can not defy our nature any more than fire can turn to ice.”

“Accompany me and I shall prove you wrong on both accounts,” the hero declared confidently, settling more comfortably against Zenos. He made no move to extract himself from his hold, obviously confident that if Zenos were to kill him, he'd do so in another duel. “The world can look on in judgment at the hero who extends a hand of friendship to his foe, but they can voice no objection against the disgraced son of House Dzemael inviting his garlean friend to his home.”

Zenos snorted dismissively.

“Tis not so simple to shed our nature. You could dress me in the robes of a priest and I’d still remain a monster.”

“You are no monster. It might be your role, but not your nature,” the elezen said with quiet conviction.

“You surely jest? Have your naivete clouded your…”

“Charibert,” the hero said simply, halting Zenos mid-sentence.

“Excuse me?”

“Charibert revels in torture and the flicker of flames as he gleefully metes out fiery judgement. It is the trappings of knighthood that keep him at bay. Had he not found Halone I have no doubt he would have turned serial killer ere long. Alas he is an old friend of mine, for his darkness does naught to scare me. It is in his nature to be monstrous and it is his role to uphold justice as dictated by his brothers-in-arms. He thrives, for his purpose and nature are not in conflict.”

“An interesting idea. Are you to suggest that my nature and my purpose contradict?” The champion answered with a confident nod. “And what, pray tell, is my nature?”

“I don't know, but I would readily lend a hand if you were inclined to find out. You said it yourself that you find your existence bleak and desolate: what do you have to lose?”

Zenos remained silent for a long time. From the distance he could still hear the sounds of fighting, but time seemed to stand still where they sat among the flowers.

“What you ask if me is treason.”

“There was nobody to bear witness to our duel. If I claim you perished along with the eikon there is nobody to claim otherwise. They will think you dead and if you were to return later we can put on some mummery to explain it away. Shinryu twisted the fabric of the world around it and perhaps you were trapped in limbo until your return or lost your memories for a time after the fall. Head trauma can do that to any mortal soul. I swear to you I have no intention to chain you to my cause or trap you in this decision.”

Tempting. Oh, so tempting, if only he could place his trust in the hero.

It shocked him to the core that he found no difficulty in doing so.


	2. Friends and family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric has a bad day. Zenos sees ghosts.
> 
> Where do you hide an injured monster? Stash him under your bed and pray nobody questions your sanity.

The Jurgen household, confiscated from the family after Percival’s father was exiled in disgrace then returned as compensation for the hero’s deeds, was much too big for one lonely elezen. Perhaps this was half the reason that it became the gathering place for the curious group of friends the eikon slayer collected around himself.

This sunny afternoon found only Aymeric and young Ser Adelphel there. Aymeric initially retreated here to find some solitude, yet here he sat at the rickety kitchen table providing impromptu first aid to Adelphel who sported both a nasty black eye and a split lip along with multitude of light bruises.

“I am sorry Lord Commander for bothering you so.”

“Nonsense, Ser Adelphel. It is he who inflicted this on you who should apologize.” He had a fair idea what prompted the beating, but he decided to ask anyway. “Has another father found his daughter gazing too intently at you?”

Adelphel’s long suffering sigh would have been answer enough on its own.

“They are without any ground, these accusations! Yet try as I might to disprove them a lady’s lovelorn gaze is proof enough for her brothers and husband.”

Aymeric didn't doubt that. He knew that young Adelphel had no eyes for the fairer sex, committed as he was to Ser Janlenoux. 

Not that a jealous husband would accept that.

“Perhaps it would be the best if you impressed on them the idea that you are already taken.” At the sight of the rising terror on Adelphel’s face he quickly added. “Not the way you think. I would never suggest that you disclose your relationship with Ser Janlenoux to placate those who raise their fists so readily at you. But perhaps a female knight could be found who is sympathetic to your plight and may…”

He could not finish what the aforementioned lady might do as Percival popped into existence in the middle of the kitchen, supporting a big and rather well armed companion. He blinked owlishly at the men present.

“I didn’t expect you, but I’m not going to look the gift chocobo in the beak.” He sounded rushed, the expression further reinforced by the way he practically dumped his companion, ignoring the pained groaning. “I’m calling in that favor you owe me Aymeric. Until I figure out what to do with him, he’s not here and has never been here.” With that Percival disappeared again, no doubt returning to wherever he came from.

The big man, a garlean Aymeric realized with a start, slowly toppled over. Aymeric and Ser Adelphel exchanged a glance over his prone body.

“He’s all out of unbound aether,” Ser Adelphel noted with a frown.

“I’m not certain if he had any to being with.” Garleans, for all their pride over their superior biology, got the short end of the stick when it came to natural aether flow.

“Why teleport him then? It could have killed him.”

“If the urgency in Percival’s voice is anything to go by, it was a matter of life and death. I’m going to look for the dragonsbane extract. Can you carry him to bed?”

Adelphel sucked in a sharp breath, but gave a nod. While small of stature, no knight of heaven’s ward was weak of body. Perhaps not with ease, but Aymeric had no doubt the young knight could drag the man to bed.

Dragonsbane was recorded in folklore as something that can ward away dragons with its unpleasant taste and smell, an obvious falsehood, but it's extract had its uses as an effective but unpleasant remedy to extreme loss of bodily aether. Since Percival took up practicing magic he kept a vial on the kitchen cupboard, not that he needed often. The dark vial was nestled between a bottle of vinegar and a box of cocoa which gave Aymeric an idea. 

When he finally made his way to the currently only bedroom of the manor he was carrying a tray with three mugs of steaming cocoa and the vial of extract.

The garlean man had regained consciousness and sat propped up against the headboard. Ser Adelphel was nowhere to be seen, but Aymeric had no doubt that the knight didn't go far.

The foreign guest eyes him with a bored, almost empty gaze.

“You are the knight commander.”

“Indeed I am. Aymeric de Borel.” He set the tray on the bedside table.  The dead eyes turned to look at the mugs, then away with disinterest.

“Zenos yae Galvus.” Aymeric felt his eyebrows rise.

“The prince Percival was fighting? What brings you here?” He pulled up a rickety chair and sat beside the bed. Zenos scoffed at the descriptor, but didn't deny it.

“I'm here because your warrior friend believes me better than I am.”

“Oh I sincerely doubt that. He is a great judge of character.” 

“You have great trust in his judgment.”

“He proved himself worthy of it.” Zenos frowned at him, but his eyes remained dull. Aymeric made a mental note to ask Percival about that.

“He claimed 'tis not my nature to be monstrous, but a role I assumed under pressure. What drivel.” Oh dear. Halone help him, he refused to have this conversation. While their very own monster provided great grounds for comparison, he was not the right kind of person to reassure Zenos. His upbringing compelled him to strive for the light and shun the darkness and was still coming to terms with Percival’s idea of peace; light and dark, side by side, ever in balance.

“I’m not having a discussion about nurture against nature until you’ve drank this,” he said firmly and picked up the vial. “It’s dragonsbane. It will help stabilize your aether.”

Zenos nodded, his eyes finally showing a spark of interest as Aymeric measured seven drops of extract and stirred it into the cocoa. He didn't hesitate to take it with a gauntleted hand when Aymeric handed it to him, but after that he sat still, staring into the drink with an unreadable expression for a long time.

“Is it not to your taste?” Aymeric hazarded a guess. There were few who took the extract with sweet tea, but it wasn't unheard of.

“Does the cocoa serve a purpose, or merely an attempt at soothing me?”

“The sweetness covers up the taste of the extract. It’s quite horrendous otherwise.”

“I see.” He took a sip and something seemed to unwind in him, his shoulders sagging as an invisible weight was lifted. His face softened and he was quite handsome, Aymeric had to admit. If only there was life in his eyes.

Silence settled on the room. Not one that Aymeric would have called companionable, but it was pleasant enough. It felt like a truce.

That was how Adelphel found them when he arrived back a few minutes later with a grouchy Ser Grinnaux in tow.

“I apologize for leaving without notice. We’ve brought some spare clothes.”

No doubt something out of Grinnaux’s wardrobe. The Bull, while no taller than the average elezen, was broad of shoulder and chest and somewhat slim of waist, similar to their garlean guest. A good shape for a brawler, less favorable for the son of a good house who was meant to attract a wife sooner or later, but there was nothing to be done about it. Coupled with his fondness of loose shirts which drove the Dzemael family tailor to tears, it made him the ideal candidate to lend Zenos some casual clothing. 

Aymeric had to admit that despite the boyish innocence he liked to project, Adelphel had a good head on his shoulders.

“Good thinking, Ser Adelphel.” He watched them place a well-stuffed leather bag on the bedside table, Grinnaux openly eyeing Zenos. If Aymeric had to guess he was contemplating whether it was worth picking a fight with the garlean and decided to intervene before it came to a brawl. He had no doubt that Grinnaux would come out on top, but he was in no mood to play arbiter while two incredibly dangerous men beat each other into pulp. “We shall leave you to rest, Zenos. We’ll notify you when Percival returns.”

Never let it be said that Zenos was oblivious to what went on around him. He caught Grinnaux’s gaze and smirked at him, cold and sharp and as open a challenge as one could pose without words.

Aymeric’s eye twitched, then caught the two knights by the arm and dragged them out before things could escalate. He would have sworn he heard Zenos laugh quietly as the door shut behind them.

“What are we meant to do now?” Adelphel asked once they were back in the living room and there was no chance that Zenos would overhear them.

“I’m going to stay and keep an eye on our guest. You two are going back and notifying Lucia that I have been caught up in something urgent and will not be returning to the city until 'tis finished.” A thought occurred and after a beat he added “Perhaps you should keep the others away from here until it is decided what to do with our guest.”

“Are you certain you do not want one of us to stay? There is something wrong with the garlean.” Aymeric looked at Adelphel and found him frowning in genuine concern.

“What do you mean?” The boyish knight shook his head.

“I can not tell for certain, but his eyes… I feel that he is dangerous.” 

“Any more dangerous than Ser Grinnaux here?” While a steady pillar among the knights twelve, the Bull’s foul temper had in the past driven him to cruelty. “Or Ser Charibert? There is no shortage of dangerous men among Percival’s friends and if he trusts the garlean enough to allow him in his house, then I shall trust in his judgment.”

They conceded to his decision, but not without reluctance. He could see it written clearly on their face, Grinnaux disappointed that he could not drag the first non-roegadyn man who matched him in stature into a brawl and Adelphel clearly worrying for Aymeric’s safely. 

He shooed them off, then took over the kitchen table to finish at least some of his paperwork and wait for Percival.

He hoped the Warrior of Light will come ready with an explanation.

 

* * *

 

It was well into the night when hunger compelled Zenos to leave the room. The clothes they lent him fit reasonably well, much to his surprise, and were more suited to the chill of the house than the full plate of his armor and his otherwise thin undergarments. The only things he kept on were his boots and his colorful sash.

There was just enough light for him to get around, mostly thanks to the refined spacial awareness of garleans. Still he momentarily froze when he wound up in the hall and mistook a suit of armor for a person. It held little interest to him once he realized that it was empty - it was hyur-sized heavy plate so he simply assumed it belonged to one of the Warrior’s Eorzean friends - but the greatsword on display near it intrigued him. It was not the same blade the Warrior used when they first clashed, but it was of similar make.

“See anything you like?” Zenos flinched and stared at the armored hyur. He could have sworn that suit of armor was empty a moment ago. “Coeurl got your tongue?”

“You have startled me.”

“A bad habit of mine. I saw when Adelphel carried you in. Feeling better now?” 

“Obviously. I have been skipping meals, however.”

“It’s tempting to say ‘serves you right’ and leave it at that, but Percival would have my head,” the strange knight said with a sigh and gestured for Zenos to follow him. “Come on, I’m sure Janlenoux left something edible here.”

Zenos followed him to what seemed to be an unholy mix of a living room and a kitchen. On a worn and partially burnt couch slept none other than the lord commander, the only marginally interesting thing in the room. He seemed comfortable enough and didn’t stir when the strange hyur threw a blanket over him.

“Don’t worry about staying quiet, if he can fall asleep he sleeps like the dead.” The knight stopped in the middle of the kitchen area and glared at the furniture like it personally offended him, or so Zenos guessed from the tilt of his helmet. 

He can’t reach anything, Zenos realized with some mirth. A house built and furnished with elezen in mind was not a pleasant place to be for a hyur on the shorter side.

“Do you always wear full plate indoors?” he asked, joining the (comparatively) tiny knight.

"Yes. I’m a shy, gentle flower. Try that cupboard, I think that’s where he keeps the bread.”

A short search later they both sat by the table with two cups of tea while Zenos ate his way through a small loaf of bread and a sizable plate of cold cuts. 

“How long exactly have you been starving?” the knight teased, but without any edge. He even removed his helmet after a while, revealing a dark, scarred face. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Fray.”

“Zenos yae Galvus.” 

“That’s a big name. What brought you to our corner of the world? Scouting for an invasion?”

“Don't be ridiculous. When we take over Eorzea, Ishgard will be the last to fall.” They had no resources Garlemald had need of, no association with eikons and the lands were still overran by dragons. That was a lot of unappealing features for such a hostile, frosty land. They had plenty of that home on Ilsabard.

“Then why are you here?”

“I do not truly know,” Zenos admitted after some hesitation. “Your Warrior of Light brought me here.”

Fray looked at him, narrowed his eerie yellow eyes and hummed.

“Percival doesn't let just anyone in here. Not even the scions, much too their annoyance. His home is only open to friends and family. Unless you are some so far unknown cousin of his, that makes you a friend. A friend in need of help, I think.”

“Think whatever you wish.” Still, the idea appealed. If Percival really considered him trustworthy enough… No, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. Mayhap he stashed him away here so his knight friends would keep an eye on him. He could not know for certain that it was a sign of trust.

“You are thinking about something stupid. I can tell.” Zenos started down at Fray who casually stirred his tea, but didn't take his eyes off him even for a moment.

“The sword in the hall. I have not seen a blade alike it before.” Not what Fray wanted to hear, he could see it on his face, but he didn't call Zenos out on the diversion.

“I don't doubt that.”

“Do you know the make of it?”

“Why of course. It is mine after all.”

“One would think you are compensating for something, carrying a sword that big.”

“I see you subscribe to the elezens’ brand of terrible humor. ”

“That’s not denial,” Zenos said. The food and the tea improved his mood greatly. 

Fray just shook his head at his antics.

“What do you care for the sword? You are already the student of a different blade.”

“That does not mean I could not become student of another as well. I am a quick study when it comes to swords.”

“Ah, but I am the only qualified trainer in these parts and I’m not terribly inclined to have you be distracted by other things. There are only three other knights with the skill to teach: Zephirin is much too busy wrangling Heaven’s Ward into order, Percival swore off the blade and Sidurgu had wandered off somewhere to make reparations with his remaining relatives.”

“Eager to embrace weakness, like all of you,” he said dismissively, pointedly not thinking about the remaining bit of family he had who might still hold some good will towards him.

“You say that as if you were not eager to rekindle connections with your mother had you the chance.” Zenos’ startled expression prompted an almost sheepish reply from Fray. “That was a rather loud thought of yours. Not a skill I can impart, before you ask.”

Not the kind of seamless mind reading that Fray seemed to possess, but Zenos had a similar trick of his own. It took some effort to focus the Resonant on the dark knight and the glimpses he caught were anything but useful. He saw darkness, coalesced into the form of man with glowing red eyes; Percival, wearing full plate and the sort of wounded, justified rage that he no doubt often felt but never showed; even himself for half a moment, his eyes dull and lifeless before he became too dizzy to keep the Resonant up.

He held his head with a pained groan.

“What...? I saw...”

“Your thoughts reflected on me. A fancy party trick, but it won't work on me.” Fray nudged the mostly full teacup into his field of vision. “Drink up and go lay down before you pass out.”

Zenos’ head was pounding too much to argue. He let Fray bully him into drinking the tea and drag him to his feet. He had strength in him for someone so short, but he still struggled holding Zenos’ considerable bulk upright when the room really started to spin with him.

He saw a blurred shape in the edge of his vision, small and pale. A child perhaps. If they said anything he couldn't hear it over the buzzing in his ears, but Fray grunted something in response.

The shape approached and seemed to grow taller, broader until they could throw one of his arms over their shoulder, the solid weight of someone of similar size supporting him.

Had his senses become so scrambled? It was hard to tell with the world spinning so. He felt lifted off his feet, but couldn’t tell if it was yet another trick of his mind or the two decided it would be quicker to carry him. The floating feeling robbed him of every ounce of will to fight back against unconsciousness, much as he wanted to struggle against being manhandled.

“He is choking on the abyss.” 

“Let it go, Myste.”

“But he is hurting!”

“I’d wager he has plenty of practice at it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adelphel is a good bean, but an extremely unlucky one. Grinnaux is trash, but loyal trash and Zenos... let's not talk about Zenos, he's a bucket of issues. Fray is odd because he's mostly autonomous and will come and go as he pleases, but he got a fairly big helping of Percival's personality in the past so he's more diplomatic than his original.
> 
> I took some liberty with the size and body type of some of the knights - I'm looking at you, Grinnaux - because I’ll be honest I get why almost everyone shares the same racial body models in game, but it annoys me to no end. Give me some big buff elezen knights SE.
> 
> I have five chapters written so far and I plan to update weekly. Comments fuel me like a good cup of coffee and while I have already found a strong 'voice' for most of the folks who will show up regularly and a rough idea of where I want to take the story, I'm not opposed to concrit.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :D


	3. Under the Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you prove one that they are in pain when they have never known else?  
> You make them look to you. You are mirrors of each other; one cracked, one broken.

Aymeric woke to the scent of frying sausages and coffee. The latter was a thoroughly un-Ishgardian habit that left no questions about Percival’s return.

“Good morning,” he said, stretching on his makeshift bed. The couch, although battered, was a surprisingly pleasant place to sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” Percival was in the kitchen area, busy with preparing food enough for a small army while sipping his morning poison. “Can I tempt you into staying for breakfast? I could use some backup.”

“Do you plan to use me as buffer between yourself and Zenos or as a second pair of arms in case he starts a fight?” It was really satisfying to see Percival blink in surprise at the name.

“He introduced himself? No, I was thinking someone rational and soft spoken who can talk him down if he becomes agitated. Remind him that he is safe here and I wouldn't have let him inside my house unless I planned to help him.”

“That’s all well and good,” Aymeric said sitting up. “But have you considered whether _we_ are safe from him?”

“I have.” Percival placed another sausage in the pan, still not satisfied with the ever growing pile. “I don't worry overmuch about it. I can't guess how emotionally volatile he is in the mornings, but once he is properly awake he is so numb to everything he needed an intense duel and the hijacking of Shinryu to feel even remotely alive. What does that remind you of?”

Aymeric frowned slightly at the description. Indeed he too had seen how lifeless Zenos’ eyes were yesterday.

“The Sorrows? Truly they would not let a prince of theirs sink so deep into them. Garlemald has even longer winters than we do, there is no possible way they don't have some pill or powder for the Winter Sorrows.”

“They do. Alas, I did some asking around among the captured garleans and no one knows if his state is predisposition or illness, for his health, mental or otherwise, is off limits. That hack mal Asina was functioning as something of a personal physicist to him and he doesn’t take it lightly when someone else tries to ‘blunder into his pet projects’.”

“I see. You believe it is intentional, rather than this Asina’s lack of care or skill.” A picture was forming in Aymeric's head and he didn't like it at all.

“I do rather believe that the esteemed emperor chose to treat his son as a hunting hound, a monster to be chained and unleashed as needed rather than a person.” He sighed and set aside the pan and the now empty coffee cup to go make some tea. The mention of monsters brought Aymeric’s thoughts to their own monster and the ‘date’ he was to have with him that evening.

“So, what is your hypothesis? That freed from the yokel of his father, Zenos is a better person than Charibert?” he asked with more irritation than he meant to.

“That’s the long and short of it, yes.” Percival snapped his fingers to set the water boiling.

“It’s hardly a high bar to clear, you have to admit.”

“Yet he believes himself worse, thus it will be my measure whether to pull him from the executioner’s noose or not.” He tilted his head to the side to listen to something and after a moment later Aymeric heard it too; someone was walking the hall.

“Good morning!” Percival called out. “We are in the kitchen.”

A few minutes later Zenos opened the door, his hair tousled and looking sleepy.

“How did you know?” he asked, making his way to the table.

“Those are nice, heavy boots. We heard you coming,” Aymeric said and stood to join the prince. “The ears are not just for show.”

“I see.” Zenos stifled a yawn and eyed the small mountain of fried sausages. “Do you always make breakfast for your prisoners, or should I consider myself privileged?”

“If I considered you a prisoner, I would have dropped you off at the Vault and handed Charibert a box of matches.” Percival said with some edge to his voice. “You are a guest, as long as you wish to stay and don’t abuse my hospitality.” He conjured a similarly huge stack of toast from somewhere, placed it alongside everything on a tray and brought them over to the table. “The pantry was distressingly empty, so we have a choice of toast with sausages, sausages and some more sausages. Oh, and tea. I did not expect to entertain guests this morning.”

Aymeric smiled, but Zenos didn’t react past reaching out for a plate with a halfhearted nod. The awkward silence stretched through breakfast and Aymeric exchanged a worried glance with Percival.

“What do you plan on doing with me, then?” Zenos finally asked after he polished off his food and accepted a cup of tea from Percival. “As this plan of yours was obviously badly thought out and rushed, we have yet to cover what I am supposed to do while enjoying your _hospitality_.” The word might as well have tasted bitter for the face he made when he said it.

Percival sighed, rather obviously not happy that he couldn’t wiggle his way out of this conversation, and pulled up a chair to sit next to Zenos.

“Well, I hoped to show you around the currently inhabitable bits of the manor, make you comfortable somehow because you look miserable and then figure out how to disguise you.” He turned briefly to Aymeric. “Grinnaux has been muttering something about Jandelaine this morning. Do you think you could check if he’s still in the city?”

“He must have come home for the Count’s birthday. I will ask after him.” The candy-colored sheep of house Dzemael could seldom be coerced into returning to his family who thoroughly disapproved of his chosen profession. “Do note, however, before you opt to drag your friend here on a big adventure that he is currently suffering from severe aether deficiency. It would be ill advised to do any further planning until he is sufficiently recovered.”

Zenos looked almost offended at the suggestion that he might be ill.

“Do not talk about me like I am not present,” he scoffed.

“I apologize. I am rather glad to have you as my guest and I would loathe to have you fall ill under my watch,”  Percival said soothingly, tapping his teacup as he thought. “Even if it is only a temporary state, it shouldn’t be taken lightly. I’m looking forward to sparring with you, but I believe we should take it easy for a time.”

The prospect of sparring put a spark of life in Zenos’ eyes. Percival didn’t comment on it, but a smile settled on his face when he noticed.

Aymeric knew that smile. He saw it directed often enough at Haurchefant, still bedridden but slowly recovering and even at himself whenever Percival caught him thinking of his wayward friend off on his pilgrimage. It was hopeful and a little sad and Aymeric decided it was time to go because it also meant that Percival was going to do something about it all and he was much too busy to be dragged along for a scheme.

In the end it didn't matter. Percival was a lot like a black hole, inescapably drawing others into his plans, but Aymeric found comfort in the fact that he at the very least recognised the signs and tried to make a run for it.

 

* * *

 

The tour of the mansion was shorter than Zenos expected, although he had a nagging suspicion why it might be. The living room-kitchen-dining room mashup seemed more and more like a forced arrangement as the hero admitted that the one currently inhabitable bedroom was originally one of the many storage rooms.

They arrived to the staircase and the hero hesitated, a soft grimace on his face, but he finally shook his head.

“I might as well show you why we had to rearrange so drastically.”

Compared to the haphazardly furnished but otherwise normal ground floor, the rooms upstairs looked like they weathered a war. The walls were charred black, the doors blown off their hinges as if a bomb went off in there.

“What happened here?” Zenos asked, dragging his palm over a blackened wall. The stone wasn’t simply burned, it felt melted under his fingers.

“The knights twelve stayed with me while they recovered from Thordan’s ‘blessing’.” Something in his voice was off and when Zenos turned back to him he wore an expression of deep sadness. “Our black mage dreamed of chains, inescapable, burrowing under his skin and winding around his mind. Such a powerful pyromancer trapped in a panic, between dream and waking, is a force on par with an enraged primal. It took us a while to wake him and get on top of the fire.”

Zenos could imagine it. He had seen the allied roe black mages on the field when he was stationed by the Northern Sea, where the extreme cold made the famed garlean machinery unreliable. That firepower trapped in close quarters was fearsome indeed.

“What happened to the mage?”

“Joined the club in drinking the medical teas. Not as refined as garlean medicine, but this is the best we have for the ailments that can’t be treated with magic.”

“You need them too,” Zenos said, realization dawning on him. “You too are scarred.”

The notion that someone had injured his beast, _his equal_ in such a way made his blood boil. Oh, what could have been if his rival was unmarred.

“Oh, mine’s not that bad. The occasional nightmare, that crushing feeling that I should just stay in bed and not even try to do anything because everything I do is pointless. It passes quickly enough and it's hasn't prevented me from anything major.” He stepped up to Zenos and gently curled a hand around his shoulder. “Come on, let's go back down. All this soot reminds me that I still couldn't bring myself to clean up.”

Zenos, intrigued by the hero's words, let himself be streered with no resistance. The hand slid down from his shoulder and settled on the small of his back as the elezen led him down and that was good. It felt right there.

“Do you often feel… pointless?”

“Hmm, not more often than the average Ishgardian I suppose. Our winters were long, even before the calamity, and this numb melancholy often afflicts those susceptible to it during the cold months.”

“The Winter Sorrows,” Zenos murmured, recalling an old conversion.

“I confess, I didn’t expect you to be familiar with the term. You garleans like your medical jargon, as in everything.” He was not incorrect and it brought the ghost of a smile to Zenos’ lips.

“My mother used to say she was ‘under the Sorrows’ when she had a bad bout of depression.” The hero was leading them towards the bedroom, he noted, but all the realisation caused was a twinge of curiosity.

“Have you considered-” The hero started very carefully. “-that your lack of feeling might be the result of such an ailment of the soul? After all it is commonly inherited from parent to child.”

The bedroom was bathed in sunlight, warm and inviting. They sat on the bed, the hero by his side, no doubt in the hope that basking in the sun would improve him mood.

“I have been poked and prodded and overseen by imperial medicus most my life. They would have noticed if my… _ailment_ was mere depression.”

“Imperial medicus like mal Asina, whose Resonant eats through your aether reserves in minutes and is a definite danger to your health?” Zenos bristled at the suggestion.

“That was an unforeseen oversight.”

“Still, it should not be dismissed that someone might benefit from keeping you in permanent melancholy. Easier to hold a leash if the hound doesn’t struggle against it.” He couldn’t argue with that, at least. Not that father didn’t have his ways to keep him at bay on the rare occasion when the fog lifted from his mind for a while.

“What does it matter if I was made a monster or born one? I am what I am.”

“Do you _want_ to be a monster?” What a question. His brows furrowed and he shook his head.

“No, of course not.” Who would wish for this empty, lonely existence?

The hero’s hand was on his back again, stroking along his spine soothingly. It was unusual, unprecedented for someone to touch him so boldly and he would have certainly jerked away from it out of habit were he not frozen in shock.

“Then give yourself a chance. You are among friends here. No orders, no leash.” He sounded sincere and when Zenos leaned into the touch to see what would happen he wound an arm around him in a tight hug.

“Why are you so eager to treat a monster like a person?” The hero was a solid, warm presence by his side and he didn’t have the word for how he felt about it other than _right._ He was rarely touched and almost never with the intention to soothe, to help. It was a novel feeling, confusing, but not unpleasant.

“You said it yourself: you and I are the same. Lions among wolves, too big for the battlefield, too strong, too scary for normal people. If you are a monster, then so am I.” He tucked his head under Zenos’ chin, seeking and giving comfort in the same motion. “I hate it. Being the eikon slayer, a tool that people call upon when needed, like an Allagan pocket knife you can apply to every problem to get it solved. They care little that I have a mind and wants of my own.”

He sighed heavily and Zenos could feel his lashes on his skin as he closed his eyes.

“I did not mean to vent at you, but this is why. I am not a weapon and you are not a monster. You are so much more than that and you deserve to be treated as such.”

Zenos started down at the top of the elezen’s head, speechless. The fact that the hero would confide in him made him suspect that despite the madness it was, the trust so far shown towards him was genuine. He struggled to wrap his mind around it, that one would give their trust so freely to someone like him. He felt kinship to the hero from the moment he realized that they were of equal strength, but he didn't dare to dream that it might be reciprocated. That the hero would realize his loneliness and seek to alleviate it.

He felt the hero go limp, clearly exhausted, and wrapped an awkward arm around him to keep him upright.

“Tired, hero?”

“Percival,” the hero corrected, shaking himself awake. “Or Percy, of you insist.” He suppressed a yawn. “I haven't slept since… way too long ago, to be frank.”

“Then rest.”

“I don't want to leave you without company.”

“The bed is big enough for two, is it not? I believe I could use some more rest myself.” Madness, this request. None could claim that Zenos sought these intimacies, untouchable and disinterested as he most often was, but now he wanted it. He wanted the trust, the closeness, craved the gentle touch of his first ever friend, lest he woke up from this dream and find himself bleeding out on the stone.

It was simple enough. Boots and socks were left by the bedside, Zenos helped Percival out of his heavy coat and they curled up together on the bed. Percival snuggled close, basking in Zenos’ body heat and almost immediately dozed off. Zenos stared at him for a long time, marvelling at the trust. It would be so simple to kill him, grab him by the throat and squeeze… there would be no fun, no satisfaction in it however.

He closed his eyes and banished the thought. If ultimately he decided to kill the hero, this confusing, wonderful person who took his request at friendship and ran with it with abandon, he would have the opportunity to do so in a way that would leave neither of them unsatisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An out of schedule early update, but I will be out of town until Wednesday and I don't trust the quality of the connection where I'm going. It was quite sudden so I didn't have the time to check the text over for typos, if you see any please tell me so I can fix them.
> 
> This should be the end, or almost the end of the establishing phase: everyone is where they need to be for the story to happen, next time we can get moving on to the actual happenings starting with disguising Zenos.


	4. Author's Note

I have struggled editing the next chapters into a form that doesn't feel off in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on until recently. I have jumped into writing this story with very little planning other than a few big story beats I want to happen in the future, eager to put my brainstorming about Zenos and the others somewhere  when I was mostly in a friend group who didn't appreciate villainous characters at all.

I had a big and painful break from my old group for mostly unrelated reasons, but as an added extra to finding a new FC where the same break hopefully won't have to happen again, I finally got the chance to write my nerds with people and not just as the punching bag or an ascended extra. Got some character building done for Zenos  and my WoL both and they shaped up to be slightly different to how I expected them to be. I'll need to go back and make a few rewrites before I can continue the story to keep them consistent in the story before I  can continue which is annoying, but better now than 30 chapters later.

 

 **tl;dr.:** A few rewrites will happen, now that I feel like I've got a voice for the characters that won't change in any story-breaking way, there will be a few tags added (specifically the big ones are chronic pain for Percy and suicidal thoughts for Zenos) and then I'll get back to posting. I apologize for the inconvenience.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Syler who bullied me into posting this. You rock man, try not to burn out too much from alphascape savage.


End file.
